"Animal House" recently came out on
Blue Ray. The John Belushi-Dan Aykroyd frat house flick is one of my personal
faves. Even if you never spent a day living in a campus dorm or college
fraternity, it’s an all-time cinema classic. Just thinking about the movie
makes me laugh. And thinking about the first time I saw it kind of makes me
laugh, too. Or maybe cry.
Let me back up.
When the movie came out it was late summer 1978, and I'd reluctantly just ventured from my comfort zone, leaving behind my friends and the familiarity of living in Spokane to tackle my first on-air job at KEZC-FM at Lake Tahoe. And Tahoe was a long way from Spokane, both geographically and culturally. While the laid back, almost middle-America vibe of Spokane fit me like a comfy well-worn flannel shirt, living at Lake Tahoe was like being an uninvited guest at a moving crap game.
The radio station was located on the north side of the Lake, in Kings Beach, which was neither as populated or glitzy as the south shore. Still you couldn't go far without a whiff of what drove the local economy; casinos and tourists. And the scenery. Inside the Tahoe Basin, beautiful Lake Tahoe seemed omnipresent, which was nice. But I didn't see it. So homesick for Spokane, for all I knew I could've been living on the dark side of the moon. I really felt like the literal stranger in a strange land.
Longing to be anywhere but there, the transition phase from the easy intimacy of my old home to the intimidating aloofness of my new one was a genuine struggle. And it wasn't just moving from one location to another that was hard; it was just as hard metamorphosing from the fake life of real college, to real life out in the cold world. It was scary and it was lonely, I wasn't sure if I was ready and was having second thoughts about my chosen career path. Even after meeting my new co-workers, who all tried to make me feel welcome, at age 23 and the youngest person on staff, I was clearly out of my element and out of my league. I felt as out of place as a depressed mouse at a cat's birthday party.
Now, I did eventually make friends at the radio station and life got better. But that took some time, and the first couple of months at Tahoe were brutal- and lonely. Let me reiterate; I was really LONELY. (And this will all make sense when we get to the part about "Animal House." Just bare with me). Even just trying to set up housekeeping was a cheerless proposition. Everything was a dump, out of my price range, or both. Mostly both. But a few miles down the road from Kings Beach, I finally spotted a "for rent " sign at a place in Tahoe Vista that didn't look too disgusting or expensive.
The complex was actually a mini-motel and the rooms were little individual cabins. Fortunately the summer tourist season was almost over and the manager was in a hurry to rent out the back 3 cabins on a longer term basis for the winter. After making sure I understood he wasn't going to waste time showing me the other two because they all looked the same, the sour-natured man took me inside Cabin #1. And upon entry, I could only assume austerity was the main feature of all of them.
Small, one room, and decked in gloomy dark wood paneling, Cabin # 1 sported a kitchenette, a bed, and a tiny closet next to an even tinier closet that turned out to be the bathroom. The other amenities, besides four walls and a roof, included a night stand and lamp, plus one bare bulb each for overhead light in the kitchen and bathroom. There was no phone or TV, not even a radio to hear what the gang at KEZC was up to. The only heat source in the drafty little room was an old GE built-in space heater. The manager warned me to not crank it up too high because this particular unit was prone to overheat and potentially catch fire. "You'd be liable, you know?" Oh, really. I wonder if it'd crossed his mind that tenants possibly being burned to death while sleeping on his property was a good selling point.
The front window offered a terrific view of the backside of the manager’s domain. The other window was a minuscule round cut-out of glass placed high above the kitchen sink. If you stood on your tip toes and craned your neck, you had a nice look at the dumpster. So the place was depressing, a potential death trap and the manager had all the charm of a prison guard with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. But the price was right: 75 dollars a month. Desperate and without a lot of money or alternatives, I gladly took it. (By the way, the part about "Animal House" is coming soon. Trust me).
Filling out the rental agreement, I asked Mr. Manager what the address was, if by some hope anyone might like to try and reach me. He was an unkempt man with unpleasant breath, a bulbous nose, and a head of thinning grayish brown hair that hadn't seen a comb since the Kennedy Administration. And by his demeanor, I gathered he’d likely be more genial with a bottle of something distilled in front of him. But since I had none to offer, he just grunted, barely holding back his annoyance, and pointed across the street. "There's no fucking address for the cabins. We get our mail over there at the Post Office."
Let me back up.
When the movie came out it was late summer 1978, and I'd reluctantly just ventured from my comfort zone, leaving behind my friends and the familiarity of living in Spokane to tackle my first on-air job at KEZC-FM at Lake Tahoe. And Tahoe was a long way from Spokane, both geographically and culturally. While the laid back, almost middle-America vibe of Spokane fit me like a comfy well-worn flannel shirt, living at Lake Tahoe was like being an uninvited guest at a moving crap game.
The radio station was located on the north side of the Lake, in Kings Beach, which was neither as populated or glitzy as the south shore. Still you couldn't go far without a whiff of what drove the local economy; casinos and tourists. And the scenery. Inside the Tahoe Basin, beautiful Lake Tahoe seemed omnipresent, which was nice. But I didn't see it. So homesick for Spokane, for all I knew I could've been living on the dark side of the moon. I really felt like the literal stranger in a strange land.
Longing to be anywhere but there, the transition phase from the easy intimacy of my old home to the intimidating aloofness of my new one was a genuine struggle. And it wasn't just moving from one location to another that was hard; it was just as hard metamorphosing from the fake life of real college, to real life out in the cold world. It was scary and it was lonely, I wasn't sure if I was ready and was having second thoughts about my chosen career path. Even after meeting my new co-workers, who all tried to make me feel welcome, at age 23 and the youngest person on staff, I was clearly out of my element and out of my league. I felt as out of place as a depressed mouse at a cat's birthday party.
Now, I did eventually make friends at the radio station and life got better. But that took some time, and the first couple of months at Tahoe were brutal- and lonely. Let me reiterate; I was really LONELY. (And this will all make sense when we get to the part about "Animal House." Just bare with me). Even just trying to set up housekeeping was a cheerless proposition. Everything was a dump, out of my price range, or both. Mostly both. But a few miles down the road from Kings Beach, I finally spotted a "for rent " sign at a place in Tahoe Vista that didn't look too disgusting or expensive.
The complex was actually a mini-motel and the rooms were little individual cabins. Fortunately the summer tourist season was almost over and the manager was in a hurry to rent out the back 3 cabins on a longer term basis for the winter. After making sure I understood he wasn't going to waste time showing me the other two because they all looked the same, the sour-natured man took me inside Cabin #1. And upon entry, I could only assume austerity was the main feature of all of them.
Small, one room, and decked in gloomy dark wood paneling, Cabin # 1 sported a kitchenette, a bed, and a tiny closet next to an even tinier closet that turned out to be the bathroom. The other amenities, besides four walls and a roof, included a night stand and lamp, plus one bare bulb each for overhead light in the kitchen and bathroom. There was no phone or TV, not even a radio to hear what the gang at KEZC was up to. The only heat source in the drafty little room was an old GE built-in space heater. The manager warned me to not crank it up too high because this particular unit was prone to overheat and potentially catch fire. "You'd be liable, you know?" Oh, really. I wonder if it'd crossed his mind that tenants possibly being burned to death while sleeping on his property was a good selling point.
The front window offered a terrific view of the backside of the manager’s domain. The other window was a minuscule round cut-out of glass placed high above the kitchen sink. If you stood on your tip toes and craned your neck, you had a nice look at the dumpster. So the place was depressing, a potential death trap and the manager had all the charm of a prison guard with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. But the price was right: 75 dollars a month. Desperate and without a lot of money or alternatives, I gladly took it. (By the way, the part about "Animal House" is coming soon. Trust me).
Filling out the rental agreement, I asked Mr. Manager what the address was, if by some hope anyone might like to try and reach me. He was an unkempt man with unpleasant breath, a bulbous nose, and a head of thinning grayish brown hair that hadn't seen a comb since the Kennedy Administration. And by his demeanor, I gathered he’d likely be more genial with a bottle of something distilled in front of him. But since I had none to offer, he just grunted, barely holding back his annoyance, and pointed across the street. "There's no fucking address for the cabins. We get our mail over there at the Post Office."
No way.
Way.
So after getting my house key, I dodged the cars on very busy North Lake Blvd, made my way into the Tahoe Vista post office and asked to be set up with a mailbox. The postmaster was very agreeable and helpful- in contrast to my less than hospitable new landlord- and didn't seem offended to be asked a simple question. So when the paper work was completed, I queried him about my box number. But he said there wasn’t one.
“Your new address is General Delivery, Tahoe
Vista, California, 96148"
At least he didn't sound pissed. But no PO Box, or street number; it was just 'General Delivery'. I don’t know why that perturbed me but it did. It made me feel like a wandering nomad, homeless--which in a way, I was. Even with a roof over my head, I missed the home I'd come from and the “home” I’d just agreed to rent in Tahoe Vista was about as homey and appealing as a hollowed out tree trunk. And without TV, friends or even a phone the days moved pretty slow. It contributed to my loathing of the place-- I was bored. And lonely. (Which will tie in nicely with the "Animal House" angle shortly. Stand by.)
I couldn't stand being so cut off from civilization and after about a month I did finally put in a phone. But who the hell was I gonna call? I didn't know anybody. And who'd ever call me? The thing only rang when Mom wanted to check up on me. However it was my only utility and pretty much my only contact with the outside world. So, I cherished my phone like primitive cavemen cherished fire.
At least he didn't sound pissed. But no PO Box, or street number; it was just 'General Delivery'. I don’t know why that perturbed me but it did. It made me feel like a wandering nomad, homeless--which in a way, I was. Even with a roof over my head, I missed the home I'd come from and the “home” I’d just agreed to rent in Tahoe Vista was about as homey and appealing as a hollowed out tree trunk. And without TV, friends or even a phone the days moved pretty slow. It contributed to my loathing of the place-- I was bored. And lonely. (Which will tie in nicely with the "Animal House" angle shortly. Stand by.)
I couldn't stand being so cut off from civilization and after about a month I did finally put in a phone. But who the hell was I gonna call? I didn't know anybody. And who'd ever call me? The thing only rang when Mom wanted to check up on me. However it was my only utility and pretty much my only contact with the outside world. So, I cherished my phone like primitive cavemen cherished fire.
Since I didn't go to work till 4 in the afternoon, before the weather turned cold, I spent many mid-mornings and early afternoons settled down in the pristine sand at the Tahoe Vista beach. With all the tourists gone, I’d have the entire stretch of sand to myself and under a cloudless, postcard picture sky I’d take a book to read or some paper to write letters while soaking up the rays. Or I'd just sit and day dream about my past life and a past love, or saturate myself in the warmth of the sun and take in the sights- the sparkling water and vast crystal blue heavens hanging above the purple mountaintops. I hated being there, but it sure was pretty.
But I had no dating life; in fact I didn’t
have much of a life at all. Working till midnight, a newcomer to the area and
lacking any inclination or guts to get out and mingle, I got what I deserved--a
lot of days of intense solitude. So I lived to go to work, and for the sporadic
letters I got from my buddies back in Spokane. But the empty days got so bad, I
took solace in the company of---gulp--Mom and Dad. (Okay, now we're
getting to the "Animal House" part.)
For the first six weeks of my employment, I
was “free” from after work on Friday until 5 p.m. on Sunday. So I'd get up
Saturday morning, have breakfast at the Tahoe City Denny's and head
"home" to spend the weekend with the folks. Yikes. Sounds crazy
doesn't it? Yet after these brief weekend escapes were over, I almost
wished I could stay with them rather than go back to work and life at Lake
Tahoe. What was up with that and what was up with me? I was truly a lost cause.
But the absolute lowest point had to be when I went to see the movie, "Animal House" (See? I told you I'd eventually get to the point). I wanted to go badly, but didn't want to go by myself equally bad. So, on one of those weekend Sacramento sojourns, it was Mom who stepped up and volunteered to accompany me. And I accepted. And I appreciated her being a good sport- I think she may have even bought the tickets- but "Animal House" was definitely not parent-friendly or Mom-appropriate. But she insisted and she was stuck. Of course, so was I.
And instead of with my college buddies or ex-girlfriend, I saw this silly, sophomoric, semi-rauchy romp of a film with my Mom, who in a packed theater of high school and college age kids and young adults, was the undisputed oldest person in attendance. Once the movie started, the place just shook with thunderous laughter. But poor Mom. Through the nearly entire two hour performance, her enjoyment level barely registered a blip; uncomfortable with the parts she got, confused by what she didn’t get and clearly offended by most everything else.
But think how uncomfortable I felt. I was 23 and there with my Mom. ”Animal House” is not the kind of movie you see with your mother. "Bambi” or “Mary Poppins”, yes; “Animal House”, a definite no! Then to put the cherry on an already awkward outing, I had the pleasure of escorting Mom out of the theater, for all the world to assume she was my “date”. Embarrassing doesn’t even scratch the surface. I'm not sure there was a Witness Protection Program back then, but if there was I'd have willingly signed up. No questions asked.
However, every time I see "Animal House" I always think of Mom and the time I dragged her to see it with me. Or vice versa. Either way, she was a trooper to go along with it. Bless her heart for that. And I guess that's the point. I've ragged on Mom a lot, but she must've had a good heart to go through such an inelegant and ill-at-ease evening just so I wouldn't have to go to the movies by myself.
But the absolute lowest point had to be when I went to see the movie, "Animal House" (See? I told you I'd eventually get to the point). I wanted to go badly, but didn't want to go by myself equally bad. So, on one of those weekend Sacramento sojourns, it was Mom who stepped up and volunteered to accompany me. And I accepted. And I appreciated her being a good sport- I think she may have even bought the tickets- but "Animal House" was definitely not parent-friendly or Mom-appropriate. But she insisted and she was stuck. Of course, so was I.
And instead of with my college buddies or ex-girlfriend, I saw this silly, sophomoric, semi-rauchy romp of a film with my Mom, who in a packed theater of high school and college age kids and young adults, was the undisputed oldest person in attendance. Once the movie started, the place just shook with thunderous laughter. But poor Mom. Through the nearly entire two hour performance, her enjoyment level barely registered a blip; uncomfortable with the parts she got, confused by what she didn’t get and clearly offended by most everything else.
But think how uncomfortable I felt. I was 23 and there with my Mom. ”Animal House” is not the kind of movie you see with your mother. "Bambi” or “Mary Poppins”, yes; “Animal House”, a definite no! Then to put the cherry on an already awkward outing, I had the pleasure of escorting Mom out of the theater, for all the world to assume she was my “date”. Embarrassing doesn’t even scratch the surface. I'm not sure there was a Witness Protection Program back then, but if there was I'd have willingly signed up. No questions asked.
However, every time I see "Animal House" I always think of Mom and the time I dragged her to see it with me. Or vice versa. Either way, she was a trooper to go along with it. Bless her heart for that. And I guess that's the point. I've ragged on Mom a lot, but she must've had a good heart to go through such an inelegant and ill-at-ease evening just so I wouldn't have to go to the movies by myself.
Doesn’t speak well of me, but says volumes
about her. Thanks, Mom.
Hi there!
ReplyDeleteMy name is Jane and I'm with Dwellable.
I was looking for blogs about Tahoe Vista to share on our site and I came across your post...If you're open to it, shoot me an email at jane(at)dwellable(dot)com.
Hope to hear from you!
Jane